Water Under the Bridge
by Aini NuFire
Summary: Angel finally reaches a place where he can forgive Wesley, but will it come too late?


**A/N: I've been sick for the past two weeks, and for some reason reading _Angel_ fanfics was my chicken soup. I wrote this just because I needed something to get me back into the rhythm of writing after having done none in all that time. ****I normally wouldn't even post this, but on the off-chance that there's someone else out there who could use some angsty, _Angel_ chicken soup, I thought what the hey.**

 **This is a little AU in several minor ways after 3x17 "Forgiving," but doesn't actually pick up until after 4x1 "Deep Down." Maybe some of that in-between time could have been more fleshed out, but like I said, this was just an exercise to help clear the mental cobwebs.**

 **Disclaimer: _Angel_ and its characters aren't mine. Neither are the handful of lines from 4x2 "Ground State" in the first scene.**

* * *

Angel emerged from the sewers into the old abandoned factory. It hadn't been hard tracking down Wesley, who had apparently gone back to being a rogue demon hunter, only a much more competent one this time around; he'd singlehandedly recovered Angel from the bottom of the ocean.

Angel hadn't mentioned to anyone that he'd be contacting Wesley, partly because he wasn't sure where it would go, partly because he didn't want to get anyone's hopes up about finding Cordelia. Fred's nerves were already obviously frayed from packing up Cordelia's apartment, given the way she'd snapped at phantom Dennis. Gunn was trying to be strong for his girl, but he didn't have the kind of big ideas someone like Wes did when it came to these kinds of supernatural problems. Wesley had always been the smartest among them—aside from recent events. But that was all water under the bridge, figuratively and literally.

Angel climbed the steps up to the main floor where he spotted the ex-Watcher crouching on the cement and examining a pile of detritus. Wesley whirled at the soft scuff Angel's shoe made, his reflexes pretty precise as he aimed a crossbow up, finger on the trigger. For a moment, the two simply stared at each other. Wesley finally lowered his weapon and stood.

"What ya hunting?" Angel asked casually.

Wesley tucked his crossbow away and moved to a piece of machinery where he'd apparently set a plastic briefcase.

Okay, guy wasn't gonna make this easy. Not that Angel should have expected as much. There was a lot of…well, a lot.

"Never got a chance to thank you," he said. "Finding me, bringing me up."

Wesley still didn't say anything.

"Must have been hard for you," Angel continued. "No map, all that water."

Wesley's taciturnity was really starting to grate.

"Look, what- what went down between us," Angel said with a little more sincerity. "I had a lot of time down there, to think, you know, about the way things went, the way they could've gone." There was still anger, of course, and grief over what might have been, but with time and distance had come clarity, and Angel knew now that Wesley hadn't been trying to hurt him, that he had only been trying to save Conner. Even if he'd screwed it up in the most colossal way possible. "I just want you to know, as far as I'm concerned…we're okay again."

Wesley looked over to stare at him blankly.

Angel spread his hands. "Come on, Wes, I'm trying here. Will you just say something?"

Wesley's mouth curved upward in a bitter moue, and in that instant, Angel reeled back with realization. He hadn't noticed before, what with being starved and delirious when Wesley had first pulled him up. He remembered being fed blood, of Wesley feeding him from his own arm, and then being shoved into a vehicle and driven into the city, being half-carried into the Hyperion and somewhat unceremoniously dropped into Fred's and Gunn's worried embraces. And Wes had disappeared before a word could be spoken.

"You can't," Angel said in a hushed voice, gaze drawn to the scar on Wesley's neck. That wound had nearly taken the man's life, and had apparently taken more than that.

Wesley shrugged one shoulder, pulled a file folder from the briefcase, and passed it to Angel. A sticky note on the front had one word. _Cordelia_.

Angel's chest hitched as he flipped the file open to pictures of Cordelia's abandoned car, maps, and notes. "You did your own investigation." Angel didn't know why he should sound surprised. Wesley had taken it upon himself to find Angel, after all.

Wesley took a step closer, just enough to point to a section of his notes for Angel to focus on. There were lots of theories scribbled on the page, including "dead?", but then crossed out, and an arrow that wound down to the underlined phrase "on another plane." Well, that might explain some things.

"Thanks," Angel said, flipping the pages over to a passage ripped from a book on a creature called Dinza. "Who's Dinza?" Angel asked before he remembered that Wes couldn't answer. The man simply tapped his finger on the page filled with notes scrawled in his own hand. Looked like Angel would have to read for himself, though it seemed as though Wes had written everything out in detail.

Angel was poring over the material when he heard the clack of the briefcase getting latched, and he looked up as Wesley picked it up and started walking toward the exit without a glance back. Angel felt a brief urge to say something, but no words came. There was a lot of water under the bridge, but sometimes it felt as though there was still enough to drown them in.

.o.O.o.

Wesley returned to his apartment empty-handed yet again, still unable to locate the demon he was currently hunting. It had been a couple of days since he'd given the file on Cordelia's disappearance to Angel. He'd been startled yet unsurprised that Angel had sought him out. Of course the vampire would use every resource at his disposal to find Cordelia, even a hated enemy. The proffered forgiveness had just been a guise to get the information he wanted. Which Wesley had been happy to turn over. He'd hit a roadblock with Dinza, as no living thing could enter her presence. Perhaps Angel would have better luck, though that was a slim chance, given the Dinza creature's temperament.

He wondered whether anyone would bother to tell him if they did find Cordelia. Not that he was entitled to know. Even if Angel's forgiveness was genuine, the others had made it abundantly clear that Wesley would never be welcomed back. He had made a mistake—a monumental, tragic mistake—and now he must bear the consequences. Because there was no way to fix his error in believing that falsified prophecy, or give Angel the years with his now-grown son back. And hadn't that been a shocking discovery, seeing Angel and Connor fighting vampires in an alley together. It had almost given Wesley hope that his actions hadn't been in vain.

But that was a train of thought he couldn't entertain for himself. All he could do was continue to use his knowledge and skill to hunt vampires and demons. How strange that he, once the prim and proper product of the Watcher's Council, should find himself on the same path of redemption Angel had when he'd been re-ensouled. Too bad in Wesley's case, it was more like he was barely clinging to his.

He paused when he heard the faintest creak of a floorboard coming from the bedroom. Instantly alert, he reached into his jacket for a knife. He'd tried to warn Lilah not to bother him after she'd offered him a job at Wolfram & Hart, but she kept playing coy since he couldn't actually say the words out loud. She was like a predator who smelled weakness. Wesley would have to find another way to make his answer come across as final. Lifting the knife, he turned just as a hulking shadow moved out from the doorway and charged at him. The impact sent him flying into the wall, the knife clattering out of his hand. Not Lilah, then.

Wesley rolled and scrambled for another weapon, but a large hand caught him by the back of his shirt and yanked him backward against a burly chest. Wesley released the catch on the contraption he'd built for under his sleeve, jamming the stake down into the demon's thigh. It roared with rage and flung him into the wall again. Stars burst across his vision, and he struggled to blink them clear. A foot stomped down near him. Wesley barely had a glimpse of a scaly face and horns before he was hauled upright again. Then a set of teeth sank into his neck. Wesley threw his head back in a soundless scream.

.o.O.o.

Angel stood in the park, concealed behind some bushes as he watched Connor stake a vampire. Despite everything that had happened, despite Connor trapping him in that box and throwing him to the bottom of the sea, the kid was still his son, still adrift in a world he knew nothing about. Not that he couldn't hold his own in a fight.

Cordelia had returned from the higher plane she'd ascended to, though not by any of Angel's efforts. His meeting with the Dinza had not been productive, but then it turned out that Cordelia had rescued herself. Or, not rescued, because she'd apparently gone willingly the first time, something Angel still didn't fully understand. But all that mattered was she was back now, and they were finally starting to tentatively explore what might be between them.

And there was Connor, who Angel might still be able to reconnect with. There was a lot of hurt and mistrust, but if he'd learned anything these past few months, it was that anything was possible. It was hard to believe that just this past spring he'd watched his world, his family, everything he cared about, crumble before him, only to find that now he was slowly putting the pieces he thought irreparably shattered back together.

Though there was one piece of that equation he hadn't figured out what to do about yet.

He watched Connor march off into the night, then turned to address the presence he'd sensed coming up behind him. "I warned you once, Lilah, stay away from my son."

The lawyer emerged from the shadows, seemingly unperturbed. "I'm surprised you feel that strongly, given he's the reason you spent three months sleeping with the fishes."

"That's between me and him."

"Hm." Lilah shrugged as though disinterested. "I'm actually here on another matter."

"What?" he bit out.

"I've been keeping tabs on everyone, even Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Stopped by his place earlier and found it trashed. No sign of him." She stalked closer. "So I was just wondering if you'd tell me where you buried the body. Just because he's dead doesn't mean the Senior Partners can't still make him an offer."

Angel narrowed his eyes. Wolfram & Hart had been trying to recruit Wes? For a brief instant, Angel wondered if Wesley would betray him again, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Wes obviously hadn't said yes to the bitch from hell.

Angel latched onto the other bit of information Lilah had shared. Wes was missing? She wouldn't be here asking about a body if she'd been behind it, as she obviously assumed Angel still wanted to kill the ex-Watcher.

"I didn't touch him," was Angel's clipped reply. His mind was already racing, though. He needed to get over to Wes's apartment.

Lilah regarded him for a prolonged moment. "Oh well." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Angel pivoted and quickly made his way to Wesley's flat. The door was closed and intact, but a jiggle of the knob proved it wasn't locked. Angel braced himself for an invisible force field as he pushed the door open, but none prevented him from entering. So either Wes had never rescinded Angel's invitation—despite the vampire threatening to kill him—or Wes was… No, Angel wouldn't let his thoughts go there until he had proof.

Unfortunately, he smelled the blood immediately. It wasn't strong, and was actually several days old. Whatever had happened here, it wasn't recent. Angel knelt next to the dried rusty smears on the floor and inhaled deeply. It was Wesley's. There wasn't enough of it to suggest he'd been killed. Taken, then. But by who, and why?

Angel felt a stab of anger, and then guilt. No one had noticed Wes was missing, because he had no one in his life to notice. Because his friends had turned their backs on him. Angel had meant it when he'd said things were okay between him and Wes, but he hadn't exactly tried to pursue reconciling with the ex-Watcher. It wasn't as though Wes had seemed open to the idea anyway.

But if Angel had at least checked up on the guy like he did with Connor, he would have noticed Wes had been attacked much sooner. Angel could only hope he wasn't already too late.

.o.O.o.

Wesley's eyelids fluttered as he slowly woke. His vision was blurred, his senses dulled. He had no idea where he was or how long it'd been since his last bout of semi-consciousness. As he blinked blearily, the smudges above him gradually sharpened into rusted pipes leaking water down a wall that was overgrown with mildew. The tang of rot and copper in the air made him nauseous. He couldn't turn, though, couldn't move against the ropes that held him strapped down to the cold hard slab beneath him. Everything ached, a dull throbbing that pervaded every muscle, weighing him down more effectively than any restraints.

Something shuffled to his left, and a shadow fell over him. Wesley flinched, lucid enough now to remember what came next. He'd been caught by the very demon he'd been hunting, a wretched creature that kidnapped humans and fed off them, much like a vampire. Once again he had royally screwed up. At least this time the only person he'd hurt was himself, and that he deserved.

Jagged teeth sank into his forearm and began to suck. Wesley gasped as white hot pain bolted through him. He was fading quickly again; each time the demon fed, Wesley felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into the lull of oblivion. He felt wafer thin, like a gossamer shroud slowly being devoured by moths.

The demon pulled back with a snarl, and fisted a hand in Wesley's hair, yanking his head back to arch his neck. "Not yet, my lamb. There are too many good meals to get out of you yet."

The demon dragged his fingernail over his own forearm, drawing forth a trickle of black blood. He shoved it against Wesley's mouth, and no matter how he squirmed or tried to fight, the cold unguent dribbled down the back of his throat. He coughed and sputtered, but then those teeth were piercing his flesh again, and everything was whited out by agony.

.o.O.o.

Angel followed the scent of blood. It was tricky, given how old and faint it was, and he had to stop and concentrate several times in order to pick up the trail again. He wished he had time to go back to the hotel and get backup, but Wes had been missing too long already.

Angel stormed through the sewers with singleminded intent. He'd let the people he cared about slip away, and only now were they trickling back; he couldn't let one more fall through the cracks.

The scent of blood was getting stronger—Wesley's blood. Angel quickened his pace until he emerged in an old dilapidated building much like the one he'd found Wesley investigating last week. Whether that was coincidence or not, Angel would have to evaluate later, for right now he pulled up short at the sight of Wes tied down on a concrete slab with a purple-skinned demon drinking from his neck.

The demon jerked away at Angel's intrusion, snarling with Wesley's red blood staining its teeth. Angel had a brief moment to realize that he wasn't armed with something handy like an axe or a sword.

"Find your own food!" the demon snapped.

Angel narrowed his eyes, sight and smell telling him everything he needed to know in seconds. Wes had been tied up and fed on for the better part of a week. And only the heartbeat echoing faintly in Angel's keen hearing told him the human was even still alive.

"Oh come on," Angel said, feigning an air of nonchalance. "We could always share." He stalked around the edge of the room like a predator.

The demon spat something indecipherable at him. "You vampires only feed on the blood; I feed on the misery. And this one…" He turned and clapped a possessive hand on Wesley's knee, a grin splitting his bloodied mouth. "This one will feed me for weeks. Maybe even months."

The demon cocked his head then, nostrils flaring as it regarded Angel. "You smell of misery too. Not as much, but some." His beady eyes narrowed. "Only souls are capable of feeling…you're Angel," he hissed.

"That's me," he relied blithely, and then he was vamping out and lunging. The demon leaped to intercept him. They exchanged a few blows, and the demon tried to rake its claws across Angel's chest. He retaliated with three successive punches to the jaw. As the demon hit the ground, Angel wrenched a rusted pipe from the wall and began bludgeoning the demon to a bloody pulp. Then he grabbed the demon by the horns, planted a foot on its shoulder, and ripped the head off. Black blood spurted across the ground, and Angel jerked away to avoid getting splattered.

He tossed the head aside, then lumbered back to Wesley. The man's neck and forearms were in shreds from multiple and repeated bites, and the scent of his fresh blood hit Angel like a freight train, drawing up memories of those moments after he'd been recovered from the ocean, when he'd been starving and Wesley's freely given blood had tasted more divine than a baby cherub's…

Angel wrenched himself out of those thoughts. He clamped a hand around the most recent bite on Wesley's neck, which happened to envelope the scar he'd gotten from Justine's knife, and tried to staunch the flow. He frowned at the dried, black substance smeared around Wesley's mouth, and realized with horror that it was the demon's own blood.

This was bad, very bad. Not just because Wesley's pulse was much too slow from blood loss, but drinking demon blood was never a good thing. Angel had never heard of people being turned like this, though, only for vampires.

He ripped apart the ropes tied around Wesley's body, and then scooped the man up, startled by how light he was. With a pressing sense of urgency and doom, Angel turned and made a hastened beat back to the Hyperion.

.o.O.o.

Everyone—meaning Cordelia, Fred, and Gunn—were in the hotel lobby when Angel stormed in from the basement access, arms full of a bleeding Wesley, someone they'd all previously determined they never wanted to see again. They all turned startled gazes on him, stunned silent for several long moments until Fred finally broke it.

"What happened?" she exclaimed.

"Demon," Angel said, suddenly feeling the need under their horrified gazes to point out that _he_ hadn't done this to Wes. "I don't know what kind, but it was feeding on him."

"Oh god," Fred choked.

Cordelia launched to her feet and strode over. "You didn't want to take him to a hospital?" she demanded, running a hand over Wes's face in a manner that suggested she wasn't harboring vitriolic feelings toward him.

Angel opened his mouth, only to flail suddenly. "The hotel was closer," he settled on, which was true, even if it hadn't occurred to him at the time. "And…I think the demon made Wes drink its blood."

There was another horrified sound from Fred, while Gunn remained stoically staring at the spectacle.

Cordelia's eyes widened. "What do we do?"

Angel shot a sharp look at Gunn and Fred. "Wes had research at his apartment where he was attacked. Maybe he was hunting this thing. Go get it and bring it back here."

Fred was already nodding, even though she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from Wesley's limp form.

"Come on," Gunn said, gently tugging her toward the door. He didn't spare another glance for the ex-Watcher.

Angel turned and started carrying Wes up the stairs to get him into one of the rooms. Cordelia disappeared, only to meet up with him again with a bunch of first aid supplies.

"Angel…"

"He's lost a lot of blood. There's some O-Neg in the fridge; we can set up a transfusion." Angel looked up to meet Cordelia's eyes, and they shared a silent understanding then that Angel wasn't holding a grudge against Wesley, and neither was she. Despite everything that had happened, and everything they still needed to work through, helping Wes now was not up for debate.

Though that was certainly not the vibe he got when Gunn and Fred returned. Gunn wasn't being openly hostile about Wesley being here, but he wasn't exactly exuding any concern for the man upstairs when Angel came down to see what they'd found.

"Looks like Wesley was hunting a Grish'naugh," Fred informed him. "They feed on humans who…" she trailed off.

"Who what?" Angel pressed.

Fred shot him a nervous look, then Gunn, before returning to the notebook in her hands. "Um, humans in despair. This demon feeds off their misery through the blood."

Angel remembered the demon saying that before they'd fought.

Gunn snorted. "Wes is miserable, cry me a river."

"Charles," Fred exclaimed in horror.

"Anything about drinking its blood?" Angel asked, ignoring the man. If anyone had the right to still be pissed at Wes, it was Angel, and he'd already decided not to be.

Fred's eyes darted over the pages. "Oh, it says the Grish'naugh's blood has regenerative properties. So they can, uh, use it to keep their victims alive longer." She swallowed hard as she lifted a worried gaze to Angel.

Angel just nodded as he processed that. "Okay. Cordelia and I set Wes up with a blood transfusion, so depending on when the last dose the demon gave him was, he should be fine." There was a slight inflection in his tone as he said it, as though he'd been asking Fred for confirmation when he was actually supposed to be giving it.

"He'll be fine," he reiterated.

.o.O.o.

Cordelia sat in a chair by the bed, staring at Wesley's still form. She heaved a sigh, then another, tempted to just bully him into waking the hell up. She had a lot she wanted to say to the man now that she could talk to him without it dividing her loyalties. But the white gauze wrapped around his neck and both arms stayed her tongue lashing. For now.

The transfusion had finished thirty minutes ago and she'd removed the IV line. If she'd had any doubts about Angel's intentions, sharing his blood supply put them to rest. Things weren't fixed between them all, but at least it seemed they were finally at a place where they could start working on it.

Wesley's face pinched, and Cordelia leaned forward to put a hand on his arm.

"Wesley?"

His eyelids slowly pried open, pupils cloudy for a moment before they seemed to clear and he blinked blearily at her in wonder. "Cordelia," he whispered.

"Hey," she whispered back, hating the way moisture was gathering at the corners of her eyes. She swallowed it down. "How are you feeling?"

He frowned and glanced down at himself, mostly tucked under the coverlet save his bandaged arms. "I…don't know?"

"Well, I'll tell you how you should be feeling. One, like you got run over by a bus. Two, that you should have known better than to go hunting Grish-whatever's on your own. And three—" She cut off before she could launch into a lecture about Connor, partly because she'd decided to postpone that, and partly because Wesley was staring at her like she'd grown another head.

"Grish'naugh," he finally said as though remembering.

She huffed. "Yeah."

Wesley closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.

"Angel saved you," Cordelia continued. "Even gave up some of his own blood supply for a transfusion." She paused, watching Wesley carefully. "He's downstairs, if you want me to…"

Wesley turned his head slightly to look at her, eyes wavering with sadness. "Sure," he said quietly.

Cordelia got to her feet and headed for the door.

"Cordy," he rasped, and she paused in the threshold. "I missed you."

She gave him a small smile. "I missed you too." It was one of those things she hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge, not when she'd chosen Angel over the guy who was like a kid brother to her. Even if Wesley was older. But maybe now they could start to put their family back together.

.o.O.o.

Angel was reading over Wesley's notes on the Grish'naugh. Apparently the demon had caught the ex-Watcher's attention when he'd stumbled upon a man being attacked by one. Wes hadn't managed to kill it, though he had saved the guy from getting kidnapped. Subsequent hunts hadn't turned up anything, but then, it seemed the demon had been hunting him in turn.

Angel looked up as Cordelia descended the stairs, and he was instantly on his feet.

Cordelia smiled knowingly. "He's awake. He's ready to talk to you."

Angel started toward the stairs, only to pause as he belatedly remembered something. "Wait, Wesley's talking?"

"Uh, yeah. Comes with the waking."

"But, his vocal chords were…" He stopped when the others stared at him blankly. He hadn't told them what he'd discovered about Wes a week ago. Had they already known? It wasn't like Angel permitted anyone to speak about the man in his presence back when the wounds of betrayal were still raw. Or had Wesley been faking it the other week? Why? Or, wait, the demon's blood had regenerative properties…maybe that had healed Wesley's voice.

Well, small miracles.

Angel followed Cordelia up the stairs, aware that Fred lingered in the lobby, wringing her hands and looking as though she wanted to come with them, but Gunn's firm stance by the office door spoke volumes about his feelings on the matter. Angel supposed he'd have to deal with that at some point.

He entered the room they'd set Wesley up in, only to stop and stare at the empty bed.

"What the…" Cordelia sputtered. "Where'd he go?"

Angel backed out into the hall and gazed down it. "He couldn't have gone far. Why don't you go around back outside and check."

Cordelia took off with a scowl. The faint scent of blood hung in the air, so Angel followed it down the corridor to the stairwell. He didn't know why, but he felt a little stung that Wesley was trying to make a run for it, after all they'd done to save his life.

Strangely, though, the scent in the stairwell didn't head down to the exit, but up. Angel tracked Wes all the way to the roof where the tang of blood now mingled with sweat, as the climb had obviously been too taxing for the ex-Watcher's weakened body. Angel marched around the roof, irritation building up to a boiling point for when he found the idiot. But then it was doused with ice when he finally spotted Wesley on the ledge near the old signage, one hand holding the rail while he gazed down at the street below.

"Wes, what are you doing?" Angel demanded, anger now replaced with mounting terror.

Wesley flicked a wary glance at him, and then back to the ground. "You're not real."

Angel's jaw went slack. "What? Yes, I am."

Wesley shook his head. "It's just delirium from blood loss. Maybe even the Grish'naugh's blood, keep its victims in torment while it feeds." He sounded so academic about it, never mind the fact he was talking about himself.

Angel edged closer. This was not something he had read about in Wesley's research. "Wes, listen to me, I found you in the Grish'naugh's lair. I killed it, and I brought you back here. You're safe."

Wesley tipped his head back, eyes closed, pain etched across his face. "When I woke up and saw Cordelia, I almost thought I was in heaven. But of course that's not where the Judas Iscariots go. So this is just some deluded construct of the Grish'naugh's."

Angel's heart clenched at the words. Right, Cordelia was back, after having been missing for months. And Angel hadn't bothered to tell Wes that.

"You were right, Wes, she was on another plane, but she came back. And…" He wracked his brain for any other inconsistencies Wesley was probably trying to deal with. "Your voice! The Grish'naugh's blood has regenerative properties, so while it was feeding you its blood to keep you alive, it must have healed you from that wound too." He took another step, but froze when Wesley shot him a sharp glare in obvious warning to keep his distance, but he also looked as though he were seriously trying to parse reality out.

"Wes, just come away from the ledge and we can go over all the evidence you need to know that this is real."

Wesley shook his head again, shuffling further back against the sign rails.

"How is killing yourself in an illusion gonna help things?" Angel pressed. "What if you just end up killing your body back in the real world?" He winced, not wanting to feed the delusion, but grasping at straws on what to do here.

Wesley's mouth twisted bitterly. "Right, because death too early is more than I deserve."

"What?" That wasn't what Angel meant.

"You want to convince me this is real? Then you should be telling me to jump. Or offering to give me a push."

Angel clenched his fists. "I don't want to hurt you."

"The pillow over my face said differently."

"Dammit, Wes, I'd just lost my son!" Angel exploded. Fine, if Wesley really wanted to hash this all out right here and now, they could. "You took him from me and then you lost him. I watched him disappear into a hell dimension where I thought he'd died!"

Wesley dropped his gaze. "That wasn't what I wanted. I was trying to save him."

"From me?" Angel bit out, those old feelings rising to the surface again. "You didn't trust me enough to tell me about the prophecy, because it turns out that all your talk about my destiny and mission, and you thought I was the monster after all."

Wesley lifted watery eyes to meet his. "Not _you_ , Angel. I never once thought you would hurt Connor. But there is a demon inside you, and I had no idea if Wolfram & Hart would find a way to remove your soul. Or what if Connor gave you your moment of perfect happiness? Even if you ever got your soul back after that, you'd never recover from killing your own son." Wesley let out a choked breath and swayed on the ledge, grasping the rail tighter for balance.

Angel had too many emotions warring within him. He'd already figured out Wesley's motivations hadn't been evil, had even considered Wolfram & Hart's nefarious plans for him given they'd been spiking his blood, had still thought Wes should have trusted him enough to confide in him, to tell him about that stupid prophecy that turned out to be false. He hadn't considered the moment of perfect happiness. For one thing, Cordelia had been with Groo at the time, so there was a hole in Angel's heart with that. A small one, but enough to keep him from perfect happiness.

But for how long? Until Cordelia and Groo broke up and she turned to Angel? Or until Connor spoke his first word of "dad"?

He clenched his fists. "I know you thought you were doing the right thing. I told you, Wes, I had a lot of time to think. I was angry, right after. But I understand now, and I…I forgive you."

Wesley let out a derisive snort. "For taking Connor, perhaps. But for losing him? No, that is a failure that cannot be forgiven."

"Connor's back now," Angel said. And yeah, that wasn't a happy situation, but it was a second chance.

"The son who tried to kill you," Wesley said bitterly.

"Connor and I have issues to work through, just like you and I do. But the point is we have a shot…" Angel took another step closer, not liking how pale Wesley was turning as he teetered on the edge of the roof.

Wesley jerked his head up. "Stop!"

Angel put his hands up, throwing Wes a pleading look. "I know you doubt this is real, but please, Wes, what do you have to lose by coming down?"

A garbled, almost manic laugh rippled from the man's throat. "Everything." He clung tighter to the sign rail. "I knew when I took Connor that I would never be welcomed back by you. And then, when I'd failed to keep him safe…I had thought that maybe the others would at least give me a chance to explain, that they would know I was only trying to save you both." He straightened, knuckles whitening on the poles. "They didn't. And whether this is real or not, I can't risk it." Wes turned sorrowful eyes to Angel. "The hope and inevitable disappointment is the cruelest punishment, which I suppose is why you didn't successfully smother me that day."

Angel didn't know what to say. On some level, he'd figured Wes was probably unhappy, being on the outs with everyone. He hadn't thought the man would be so utterly devastated by what had transpired. Because Angel was the one who'd lost his son; he was the one who had the right to be hurting, not Wesley.

Time had given Angel perspective, a place to start picking up the pieces. It obviously hadn't done that for the man standing before him. What had the Grish'naugh said? That Wesley's despair would feed the demon for months. When Angel knew from the research he'd read that most victims were sucked dry after only a week.

"I did want to punish you," Angel admitted. "I can't take that back. Just like you can't take back leaving with Connor. But we can move past it. Water under the bridge."

Wesley regarded him silently for a long moment, calmness settling over his trembling form. "You have no idea how much I've wanted that," he said solemnly. "But I can't bear to lose it again."

Angel lunged just as Wesley stepped off the ledge and let go of the rails. It was only vampiric speed that got Angel across the last of the distance and snatching at Wesley's arm just as he fell. Angel grunted as the man's weight thudded against the side of the building, and then with a burst of strength, Angel hauled him up and over so hard that Wes's body fell against him, the momentum driving them both to the ground.

Angel wrapped his arm around Wesley's chest, pinning him in case the man tried to make another break for it, but Wesley was slack in his grip, eyes closed and apparently unconscious. Blood was roaring in Angel's ears with heady ferocity, and he clutched at his friend tighter.

What the hell had he let happen?

Angel frowned as he pressed his palm against Wesley's chest, and then he was leaping to his feet in horror. Wes wasn't breathing. Angel scooped him up and bolted for the stairwell, shouting for help. He didn't have the breath to force oxygen into the man's weakened lungs.

"Cordelia! Someone!"

They emerged from around the corner, Cordy, Fred, and Gunn.

"What happened?" Cordelia exclaimed, rushing forward. At least this time it didn't sound like Angel himself was being accused of hurting Wes intentionally.

"He's not breathing." Angel laid Wes flat on the floor as Cordelia knelt beside him. With swift urgency, she tilted his head back and covered his mouth with hers, pushing breath into his body. She did it three times, then started compressions on his chest.

"Don't you dare, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce!" Cordelia breathed into his mouth again. And again.

Angel finally grabbed her wrist, and she shot him a scathing glare that said no way in hell was she giving up. But Angel just held her still and canted his head to listen. "He's breathing again."

Cordelia rocked back on her heels.

"Oh thank god," Fred said, nearly sagging.

Angel lifted Wesley off the floor and carried him back to the bedroom.

"What the hell was he doing trying to leave, anyway?" Cordelia huffed.

"He wasn't trying to leave," Angel said brusquely as he deposited Wes back in bed. "He tried to jump off the roof."

"What?" Cordelia threw him a shocked look, then one at Wesley. "Why?"

Angel ran a hand through his hair. The answer to that question was way too long to relay. "Call Lorne." Maybe he could figure out whether what happened was some after-effect of the Grish'naugh feeding on Wesley…or if he was seriously suicidal on his own.

The others exchanged wary looks, and then Fred was saying she'd go downstairs and call. Angel didn't pay much attention. He took the seat beside the bed and stared at Wesley, having no intention of letting the man out of his sight until they figured out just how much risk he was at, both physically and mentally. It had to be from the demon, though, because even when Wes had been cut off from everyone, mute after a traumatic attack, he hadn't tried to kill himself.

Still, the things Wes had said on the roof…did he really think that? Angel thought about when he'd first met Buffy, of how the hope of finding something so good, so pure, for someone like him, had terrified him, because he had so much to lose. He'd tried to make Buffy kill him before he let it get too far, but then he'd ended up killing Darla to save her, already lost to loving her.

So, yeah, Angel understood that kind of desperation. And his heart constricted with the knowledge that he'd helped drive Wes to that point.

.o.O.o.

It was a couple of hours before Lorne finally arrived, looking a bit flustered and put out at being summoned so urgently, but the minute the demon walked into the bedroom, he pulled up short, eyes widening as he took in Wesley's sleeping form.

"Oh. Oh my."

"What?" Fred asked worriedly, hovering behind him and trying to peek into the room. Angel could see Cordelia and Gunn there as well.

Lorne straightened his shoulders and moved to the other side of the bed. "When you said he'd been attacked by a Grish'naugh, I thought you meant like it sunk its teeth into him once." Lorne eyed the various bandages critically, his mouth turning down further. He lifted a somber gaze to Angel's. "How long was he held?"

Angel swallowed hard, still hating to admit how long it'd been due to his—everyone's, really—negligence. "A week."

Lorne visibly flinched, and he snapped his attention back to Wesley, staring at him hard, presumably at what the rest of them couldn't see. When he looked up again, there was a look of sympathetic resignation in his eyes that Angel didn't like at all. "His aura is shredded. It's a wonder he's even…" Lorne ducked his gaze before turning to the others apologetically. "I've never heard of anyone surviving longer than six days."

"But Wesley did," Fred protested. "He's here and he's fine. Well, not fine, but Angel and Cordy gave him a blood transfusion, and he had enough strength to go up to the roof…" She snapped her mouth closed.

"I wish it was that simple, crumpet," Lorne replied sadly. "You said he stopped breathing at one point?"

Cordelia nodded in confirmation.

Lorne sighed heavily. "His body is failing. The damage to his aura…I'm sorry, there's nothing that can be done."

The room fell silent. Angel's gaze dropped to Wesley's pale face, the thick bandage around his neck so similar to the last time Angel had seen him wounded like this. So this was it. He'd cast Wes aside for one mistake, one made out of love, and now this was the punishment right when he was ready to take the man back.

Maybe Wes was right; hope did hurt more than apathy.

"No," Cordelia spoke up determinedly. "If his aura is injured, then we just need some kind of magicky bandaid for it."

Fred's eyes lit up with that ever fickle mistress, hope. "Right! A spell or potion or something."

Lorne's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "It's a long-shot, but I could make a few calls…"

"Let's do it," Cordelia said decisively. She spun on her heel and marched out. Fred hurried after her, while Gunn hesitated long enough to throw an uncertain glance at Wes, as though his hardened exterior might finally be cracking.

Angel stayed where he was, afraid that Wes would stop breathing again, especially now that Lorne said his vitals were failing.

He cleared his throat when the demon started to leave. "Wes…he- he wanted to die, rather than… Is that from the Grish'naugh? Does it…amplify the feelings of despair it feeds on?"

Lorne frowned. "No, it doesn't do that. But, well, I'm sure having one's aura in tatters doesn't leave one's mental faculties in top notch, and Wesley wasn't exactly in the best of…" He trailed off and looked at their unconscious friend. Lorne had tried to tell Angel that he needed to forgive Wesley, but he'd been too stubborn, and it apparently came too late.

 _No_ , they couldn't give up yet.

Lorne shifted his weight. "Angelcakes, listen, even if we do find something to fix his aura, what are you…I mean do you plan to…?"

"I want him to come back."

Lorne nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'm getting that vibe off you. And Cordy. Fred's confused, and Gunn…well, not so much with the warm and fuzzies from him yet." He sighed again. "My point is, Wesley's in a vulnerable state right now. And if you're not one hundred percent sure…it might be better to just take him to a hospital."

Angel frowned. "You made it sound like nothing would help him."

"True, but they could make him comfortable until…"

Angel surged to his feet. "I'm not dropping him off at a hospital and leaving him to die."

Lorne held his hands up placatingly. "Like I said, sugarplum—be _sure_. Because if you try to heal his aura, and then give him the boot again, you'll just be killing him twice."

"That's not gonna happen." Angel was getting pretty ticked that Lorne would even suggest it, too. But then he had to remind himself that he hadn't shared his feelings of forgiveness toward Wes with the others, some of whom were still holding onto their grudges, or holding onto Angel's out of some sense of loyalty. He'd just thought bringing Wes back here to help him had cleared that up for everyone.

Lorne went to help research a way to treat Wes's shredded aura, while Angel remained upstairs with him, keeping a constant vigil on the slow and languid heartbeat and shallow breaths barely making the ex-Watcher's chest rise. It was hypnotic, so much so that it took Angel a prolonged beat to realize that Wesley had sluggishly opened his eyes.

"Hey," Angel said, drawing the man's attention.

Wesley turned his head against the pillow. "Angel," he said in a low voice.

"You remember what happened?" Angel asked guardedly.

Wesley blinked a few more times, then glanced at the bandages along his forearms. "Grish'naugh."

Angel nodded. "I saved you." He internally winced; he sounded too much like that puffed up suck-up from when he was the one trying to get back into everyone's good graces after going off the rails with Darla. He almost laughed at how parallel his and Wesley's lives had become.

Wesley's eyes slowly tracked the motel room.

Angel hesitated. "You remember what happened the last time you woke up?"

Wesley turned to give him a startled look, then his eyes clouded over with darkened understanding. "Yes."

"So you believe this is reality now?"

Wesley glanced at his bandages again. "Yes. Were it not, the hallucination likely would have resumed from the beginning."

"Uh, okay." There was Watcher logic for you. "Cordelia is downstairs with everyone looking for a…that is, your aura took a beating. But you're gonna be fine," Angel assured him. "Just take it easy for a bit."

Wesley settled his gaze on Angel. "Why are you here?"

"They're better at the research thing than I am, and I wanted to make sure…" Angel winced; he didn't really want to come right out and say that Wes had almost died, a handful of times.

Wesley just continued to stare at him in bewilderment, and then his voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I prefer suffocation by pillow."

Angel tensed, and had to resist the urge to snap at him. That was all said and done and in the past, and Angel wouldn't let people continue to hold it over his head. Except he knew that Wes wasn't trying to be high and mighty about it. More like he was still in that self-loathing state of mind that Angel was quite familiar with.

"I told you, Wes," he said instead, mustering his patience and understanding. "I forgive you. Can you forgive me?"

Wes lolled his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. "I suppose since I'm dying, I should."

"You're not dying."

Wes gave him a wry glance. "I know all about the Grish'naugh, Angel, including what happens to its victims."

"The others are working on finding a way to help heal your aura."

"How charitable of them."

Angel clenched his fists. Wes had a right to be angry, to be disappointed. Angel tried to remember what he had felt like when it was him groveling for forgiveness. Except why couldn't Wes see that it was already being offered?

"I'm not saying things are gonna be easy," Angel said. "We can't automatically go back to the way things were. But I'm willing to try here, Wes. Are you?"

Angel waited, listening to the faint increase in Wesley's heart rate, the small hitch in his breath as the man warred with his own emotions, fears, and doubts. Then Wesley lifted his hand weakly toward Angel, who took it and squeezed.

"I forgive you," Wesley said quietly. "It wasn't like I didn't deserve—"

"Stop it right there," Angel interrupted. "I was angry and hurt, but you didn't deserve it. We were both played by forces bigger than us."

Wesley nodded, the lines around his eyes crinkling in grief. Angel gave his lax fingers another squeeze, already feeling that little strength leeching from him. The others needed to hurry.

Speaking of which, Angel heard them coming up the stairs, and he raised his head toward the door in hopeful anticipation. They all filed in, even Gunn. Fred's face lit up when she saw Wesley awake.

"Hey there," she said softly.

"Tell me you have something," Angel said.

"We do," Lorne confirmed. "I should have remembered sooner, but I overlooked something you already had in your arsenal."

Angel frowned. "What?"

Cordelia stepped forward. "Me."

Angel glanced between them in confusion before realization dawned. "You want to try what you did with Connor, when you…"

"Cleansed his aura," Lorne supplied. "And yeah. This isn't the same situation, but it might work."

Angel looked at Cordy. "I thought you didn't know how you did that."

She shrugged. "Not gonna stop me from trying." She strode around to the other side of the bed. Lorne hastily dragged another chair over for her to sit.

Wesley was gazing at her with a small measure of uncertainty. "Trying what?" he asked.

"One of the perks of being part demon is I apparently have some really nifty glowy power that lets me cleanse auras. I helped Connor let go of all that negative energy when he first got back from the hell dimension."

Wesley blinked at her. "It's a nice thought, Cordelia, but as Lorne said, this isn't the same thing."

She reached out to grasp his hand between hers. "I am not letting you die like this."

"It's really not that painful," Wesley said, as though that was supposed to be a comfort.

Cordelia glowered at him. "Work with me here, Wesley. Let me help you. I can do this, but you have to let it go."

Wesley flicked his gaze around the room at the other people in it before quickly ducking his chin so he wouldn't have to meet their eyes.

Angel put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "I can't lose another member of this family." He shot a warning look at the others, just to make it abundantly clear. "I won't."

Wesley took a deep breath, then let it out. When he met Angel's eyes, he nodded, and then looked to Cordelia. "Don't blame yourself if it doesn't work."

"That's the spirit," she said snippily, then drew her shoulders back and closed her eyes in concentration.

Angel's nerves were on pins and needles as he watched and waited while nothing seemed to be happening. Then, finally, Cordy started to glow softly. The pearly white aura silhouetted around her, and then flowed down to envelope Wesley. Angel blinked as wisps of mottled gray began to take shape around the ex-Watcher. Fred let out a gasp that echoed Angel's own feelings of concern—Lorne's description of Wesley's aura being shredded was entirely accurate. There were jagged tears in the faint mist wafting around him, like mesh that'd seen the end of a tiger's claws.

Cordelia opened her eyes and gazed down sorrowfully at Wes, moving one of her glowing hands to rest upon his brow. "Oh, Wesley. Let me help you."

Angel wasn't sure what was going on, precisely, but as he watched, some of Cordelia's bright light began to suffuse down to fill the holes in Wesley's aura. Not completely, but like butterfly bandages to at least keep the gaping fissures from fraying further. The light grew brighter, and Angel had to squeeze his eyes shut against the glare. When it finally faded and he looked again, Cordelia was back to normal, and Wesley's eyes were closed. His heartbeat was stronger, though.

"So?" Angel asked.

Cordelia sagged a bit in the chair. "That was…oh boy."

"I'll get you a drink," Lorne offered, and exited the room.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Fred asked in a small voice.

Cordelia shook her head in uncertainty. "I managed to cleanse most of the life threatening damage. But…" She looked up to meet Angel's gaze. "There was a lot, and I couldn't patch everything. Some…some of the wounds weren't from the demon."

"But he'll live?" Angel checked.

Cordelia nodded, and leaned forward to stroke Wesley's hair while he slept. "He'll live."

"Then the rest we can fix. With time." Angel once again shot a pointed look to Fred and Gunn. "I understand if you can't deal with that yet. Take a few days off if you need to."

Fred whirled toward Gunn, looking panicked at the prospect of having to choose. Gunn kept his gaze fixed on Angel's.

"I don't get it, Angel," he finally said. "How can you forgive him and take him back like this?"

"Because he put my son's welfare above his own," Angel replied without hesitation. "And paid dearly for it."

Gunn studied him for a moment longer, then turned toward the door. "I need some time to…" He shrugged and swept out into the hall.

Fred twisted back and forth, looking torn between following or staying.

"It's okay, Fred," Angel said in understanding. "Go with him."

"Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Cordelia added, perhaps a tad harshly.

Fred cast them both apologetic looks before doing as she was told.

Angel turned back to Wesley and watched Cordelia lightly stroking the man's hair as he slept, and was reminded of the time when it was just the three of them. Cordy and Wes had been more like Angel's children back then, young, naive in some ways, wholly devoted to his cause. They were still wholly devoted to him, and it hurt to know just how much pain they'd gone through because of Angel. Cordy and the visions, becoming part demon; Wesley almost dying a few times already, and what happened with Connor. There was a lot in their past, both good and bad. A lot of water under a broken bridge, but enough history between them that they could rebuild that bridge.


End file.
